


Aftermath

by FriendOfTheFugitive



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anger, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Fear, Fist Fights, Heavy Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Platonic Relationships, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Revenge, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 15:17:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7981252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendOfTheFugitive/pseuds/FriendOfTheFugitive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when the Inquisitor no longer feels safe in Skyhold?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Razildor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razildor/gifts).



> An alternate timeline where @Razildor's Titus Trevelyan is a companion of my Inquisitor Ferron Lavellan.
> 
> **For those who find the subject of rape and gore triggering, please move along or read with caution. Since this is a story about a rather public and well-known figure suffering from the aftermath of such events with the people who love him, there will be some memories and nightmares revisited, as well as somewhat detailed accounts of the events revealed through dialog. I plan for this story to be riddled with emotional trauma and conflict as well - please step lightly, I don't wish to trigger anyone.**

The ale tasted just as bad in the magical place of Skyhold as it did in any back water Tavern within the land of dog. It was disappointing, but he nursed his mug none the less. A wasted drink was just as blasphemous as rejecting a perfectly ripe man. The faces were joyous, but unfamiliar. They kept Titus from knocking back one tankard after another - he needed to be on his game in case one of these were not as reputable as the entirety of the 'inner circle' he hears so much about.   
  
It was a far off noise, an elongated cry that lasted not three seconds longer than the cheers and clinking drinks. It was too low to be the metal and too high to be the cheers of triumphant men and women alike. Alcohol relaxed everyone - but this was no scream of pleasure, and Titus had heard many in his day. His dark eyes surveyed the boisterous crowd, his ears alert for the repeated call. The prick under his skin and churn in his gut warned him something was amiss. Where was the little elf that everyone was celebrating?   
  
Mugs clanked again, leading the opening of a drunken song. The words sloshed together, almost unrecognizable to anyone who hadn't heard it a thousand times. An off beat, a pitch that didn't quite match - one that came from above - his eyes were prowling again. Ferron was nowhere in sight, and with Dorian out of Skyhold on buisness, he wouldn't have a reason to skip out on his own party. A single thud from the wood floor two stories above had Titus running up the stairs, skipping steps as he went. The foul liquid in his tankard spilled across the floor.   
  
Another cry, getting closer as Titus advanced quickly towards the third story door that lead to a room mostly stored with wood, cobwebs, and Varric's reject copies of Hard In Hightown. He kicked the door open when it resisted his turn of the knob - the smell of sex and fear assaulted his nose. A low growl of “you are mine now,” pulled his attention to a rather built man who covered a body Titus barely recognized. His features were blocked.   
  
A squeaked _“help”_ and Titus saw red. Ferron was thrashing hard, scratching up and even burning the man who held him down and brutally thrusted inside of him. The warriors large hand clamped around the assaulter's nape, tightening his hold and yanking him off of the terrified elf. Ferron curled up, hiding his head in his knees as silent tears rolled down his cheeks. He could feel the tainted seed spill from him - he was damaged.   
  
Titus slammed the Scout into the wall, reeling back his fist and landing an uppercut straight to his jaw. Spit flew from his mouth. “You'll die for this!” he snarled, gripping the front of the demon's shirt and throwing him to the ground and away from Ferron. In a single beat, Titus was on top of the blond haired man. His tightly wound fists bashed directly into his face, hitting every single bone he could possibly break. Blood poured from the holes on his face, staining Titus' hungry knuckles.   
  
A rain of footsteps clipped up the stairs. The first to see the mess was Cassandra. It didn't take much to realize the situation. “Grab him!” she gasped, making the decision to stop Titus before he murdered the man as opposed to pulling Ferron out of the line of fire. The command was vague enough for those who followed to check the commotion and pick an objective.   
  
It took four sets of strong, rough hands to separate Titus from his target. He breathed heavily, almost fighting off his human restraints before he heard their grounding voices. Blackwall, Cassandra, Krem, and Sera all pulled him back, pushing him up against a nearby wall. He had been with them a short time, but they were very aware of his temper.   
  
Morrigan kneeled next to Ferron, her soft hand ran over his face but stopped when she saw him cringe. She wanted to respect his space, but she knew that he couldn't continue to lay in the middle of the floor. She gripped the area underneath his shoulders and slid him across the ground, pulling him into the dark and confined corner between the broken bed and an unused dresser. As if by instinct, he squeezed himself into the small space and curled up, his face was hidden behind his knees.   
  
“He's still alive,” Solas spoke darkly, removing his fingers from the pulse point under the Scout's neck. His face was already swelling, and he wheezed painfully with every breath. Solas felt no sympathy as he glared down at him. Blackwall glanced over - he wanted to spit. This was the scum of Thedas, and they somehow crawled into Skyhold's ranks.   
  
Titus looked frantically around the room, searching for the small elf he promised Dorian he would protect. He saw the top of his head peeking above the bed. Morrigan was looking down, pure sympathy in her eyes. The Warden had told her stories of the horrors Shianni faced...hearing them from her best friend was enough to make her sick - actually being part of the aftermath shook her to the core. Is this what Adyla felt as she cut her way through a whole castle filled with vile men who would do the same given the chance?   
  
He shrugged out of his coat, brushing off their hands as he did so. Cassandra snapped a quick, “Sera, tell Bull to clear the tavern and get the Inner Circle together. Blackwall, get a letter to Dorian - ASAP. Krem, help Bull.” They scattered, matching Titus' determined stride across the room. Morrigan looked up quickly, a guard in her eyes. Titus lowered his posture, telling her he meant no harm with a single look. She complied with a threatening glare - she was not close with Titus to know his intentions.   
  
The brute knelt in front of Ferron, a softness on his face that not many would ever witness. “Here - to cover yourself.” he whispered, wrapping his coat steadily around Ferron, careful not to touch his skin.   
  
He barely looked up, his eyes glassy and devoid of life. He was shaking and pale. His fist clenched around the edge of the soft coat and he brought it to his neck, covering the forming bruises left behind by sharp teeth and harsh fingers. Most of his body was covered, and the woody smell reminded him of home. He could feel their eyes trained on him, all sympathetic and angry...but inside - he felt nothing.


End file.
